Gods and Monsters
by forsaken x
Summary: Sansa is given a sudden opportunity to escape captivity and head north. But after an attack on the road, Sansa is separated from the knights who swore to protect her and see her home to Winterfell. Alone and afraid, she stumbles upon a weirwood and sleeps beneath it, seeking solace in her father's gods. When she wakes, she finds that the old gods have heard her prayers.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones.  
Summary: Sansa is given a sudden opportunity to escape captivity and head north. But after an attack on the road, Sansa is separated from the knights who swore to protect her and see her home to Winterfell. Alone and afraid, she stumbles upon a weirwood and sleeps beneath it, seeking solace in her father's gods. When she wakes, she finds that the old gods have heard her prayers.  
Warnings: A Song of Ice and Fire book spoilers throughout. Incest. Adult content.

Author's Note: The prologue is from the point of view of an original character and takes place a year after the rest of the story, as a flash-forward. Don't let that scare you away! The rest of the story will be from Sansa or Jon's point of view.

ooOoo

The cold wind was crueler than the chains which bound Warrick's wrists and ankles. He wouldn't have minded them so much, if it weren't for the other prisoners he was tethered to. Every time one of the men would stumble in the deep snow, the others were all yanked back. But the wind… that was another demon. It lashed at his face relentlessly; he imagined this is what it must feel like to be flayed. He thought that he would like to surrender; to fall to the ground, curl up beneath the snow, and let the cold claim him, but no one was like to burn him after. The hells weren't fire. No, they were _ice_. They were frozen wastelands stretching white across leagues and leagues, and the devils were cold, and blue, and dead… _and they hunted._

Warrick thought it unusually cruel to march a man for days through the cold only to either have his head taken off once they reached their destination, or sent to a hell even colder. He wasn't so naïve to believe this queen would pardon him, though he had heard one of the other men call her 'The Maid of Mercy." They had been making camp for the night, near the sweet fire, and the men had argued about it.

"She ain't no maid," one man had said; the one who's nose was black with frostbite. "She took a direwolf for a lover and births litters of wolf pups."

"Aye," agreed another. "The pups have got teeth, y'see, so her tits are always bloody."

"She is a maid, I tell you," insisted the first. "She's the bastard daughter of an Other; a Halfling."

"An abomination," said the bald one who was always coughing. "Someone need burn her."

"I'll take her maidenhead first," said Grin. "Then burn her while she sleeps."

Grin was the worst of the lot. He had another name that Warrick couldn't remember, but they called him Grin because he always had a wide, mostly toothless, smile. Black Nose had told Warrick that Grin had killed his own wife and daughters, and done worse to them… but Warrick had shook his head violently, not wanting to know any more.

Warrick was no kinslayer. He had a bastard daughter himself. Mara her name was; a pretty little thing, just ten years old and he loved her fiercely. That was why when he heard that the girl's mother was looking to sell her to a brothel he slit the wench's throat.

For all his trouble he had ended up in some lord's dungeon and Mara had likely become a whore anyway. While in his cell, he would dream of seeing her again. Now, he was sure he never would. Not a week in the dungeon and some gaoler had told him that queen's men had come to take him, perchance to serve on the Wall, if found worthy. The gaoler said he was lucky, if not the Wall it would be death.

_Lucky,_ thought Warrick_. I should have made them kill me. _There had been thirteen prisoners and four mounted knights. Only nine prisoners remained. One had fought, and was cut down. The others could no longer walk. The knights never burned the bodies.

Warrick would have said it had been years before they reached the winter town. The castle beyond it was mostly a ruin, but there were hundreds of builders working on the various structures. Nearly every man, woman, and child they were marched passed glared at them. Put a man in chains and he becomes a savage monster to onlookers, despite them never bothering to know what he had done. _Let them glare,_ thought Warrick. _This queen's judgment is all that matters. _He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer for mercy to the Mother, and another to the Maiden, just in case Black Nose was wrong about the queen lying with wolves.

One of the knights informed them that they would be taken before the queen at once. They were led through the castle gates to the courtyard, where there was an immense godswood. In the center of the grove grew a great weirwood, a face carved into its bark. Beneath the weirwood, seated on a wooden bench, sat the fairest maiden Warrick had ever seen. She had pale skin like porcelain, long flowing hair that was kissed by fire, and bright blue eyes. Resting on her head was an iron crown. Apparently unbothered by the cold, she wore a simple white, sleeveless silk gown, which clung to the curves of her body. At her feet, which were bare, there were three wolf pups wrestling in the snow.

Warrick quickly glanced to where a knight was releasing the first prisoner to bring forth to her, Black Nose. But then his eyes were fixed back on the queen. She sat as still as an ice sculpture, with only her gown and hair moving gently in the wind. _How is she numb to this chill? _Her cheeks had a faint pink blush to them, which only made her lovelier still, and beneath the thin fabric, he could see her stiff nipples. Otherwise, there were no signs she felt the cold at all. Black Nose was pushed down to his knees before the queen.

A young knight with golden hair, who stood beside her, spoke first. "You have been brought to the godswood to be judged for your crimes by the Queen in the North, in the presence of both gods and men."

Black Nose bowed his head. "M'lady"

The knight standing behind Black Nose struck him with a mailed fist. "She is your _queen_, not your lady."

Once recovered from the strike, he spat blood onto the snow. The knight made to hit him again, but the queen raised a hand. "Your Grace."

The knight standing beside the queen continued. "You kneel before Queen Sansa of House Stark, the blood of the First Men, known as the Wolf Queen, the Queen of Winter, and the Queen in the North."

One of the knights who had escorted their party to Winterfell read out the crimes of Black Nose, whose birth name was actually Garret. He had been confronted by the husband of a wench he had raped, and Garret had killed the man in the quarrel.

"I am a weak man," said Garret. "I loved a woman who belonged to another. Have mercy, Your Grace. Please."

Queen Sansa watched him calmly as he pleaded. It seemed to be a long time before she finally spoke. "The Wall."

The queen sent another three men to the wall, a raper and two poachers, before Grin was knelt before her. He smiled as his crimes were read out. "What say you?" asked the golden-haired knight.

"My friends and I had a disagreement on our journey here, Your Grace," he said, smiling. Warrick cringed. _He's mad,_ he thought. "Are you the bastard of a White Walker, or do you let wolves fuck you?"

The knights who attended her grace were enraged. The one behind Grin began to beat him and the knight beside the queen unsheathed his own sword. "I will give you his tongue, Your Grace." Warrick heard a snarling from behind him, and nearly pissed himself as three direwolves came bounding out from between the trees. They growled and bared their teeth at Grin; even the pups at the queen's feet were poised to attack.

"No," said Queen Sansa. "I will have his head."

Grin was dragged to a block beneath the heart tree. The queen stood, her thin gown barely touching the snow, and walked to where he knelt, her three pups loping after her. A knight handed her a sword, and a chill went through Warrick. _She will do it herself_, he thought.

"Kyle Worth," she said, lifting the blade. "Here in the sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?"

Grin smiled one last time. "Do it, Wolf Bitch."

And she did. He was dead after the first blow but it took four more strikes to remove the head from his body. When it was over her white gown was sprayed with blood, as were her arms and hands, and the wolves were all howling.

"Mother have mercy," muttered Warrick.

"It's the queen's mercy you'll be wanting," said the knight who was walking him to the weirwood, where the queen was once again sitting. A wolf pup sat on her lap, licking the blood off of her fingers. Warrick dropped to his knees. The young golden knight announced his crime.

"All I did was done for mine own daughter," said Warrick. "Please, Your Grace, have mercy on a father."

Her eyes were so, so blue. He felt naked before her. One of the grown wolves stepped close and sniffed him, making him shudder in fear. It was a hundred thousand years before she finally spoke.

"The Wall."


	2. Chapter 1

-One Year Earlier-

Sansa ran as fast as her legs would let her. When she had first started running, she had been sobbing, but it was hard to see where you were going when there were tears stinging your eyes, so she made herself stop crying. Her world had since narrowed down to her aching legs and feet, her own breath, hard and heavy, and the tree branches that reached down for her, whipping her arms and tearing at her clothes.

"_Princess, I swear to you, I will see you home."_

_Dead, now. All dead. _Sansa looked up to the darkening sky, only to trip over a root and go sprawling to the ground. _I'm a stupid girl, _she thought, struggling to her knees. _A stupid girl who never learns and still believes in knights rescuing maidens. _They had been ambushed on the road when the morning sun was still high. Sansa had watched, her heart in her throat, as Ser Darren tried to talk their way out of trouble, but it had been no use. They were outnumbered; Ser Raye had been cut down first, then Ser Darren had three men on him and Ser Trent, two. The sixth was reaching for the reins of Sansa's mare; Sansa was trembling at that point, remembering the mob that had pulled her from her from her horse in King's Landing. That was when Ser Darren had told her to ride. She spurred her mare into action, making it to the trees off the road, but then a quarrel had struck the horse's hind leg, and she went down. Sansa was lucky not to have been crushed; she stood up on sore legs as another arrow whirred past her head and embedded itself into the tree beside her. That was when she had started running, disappearing between the trees, and she hadn't looked back once.

Sansa was shivering as she knelt in the dirt, listening to the sounds of the forest around her. When she heard the unmistakable sound of rippling water, she realized how painfully dry her mouth and throat were. She stumbled through the trees towards the sound until she came across a tiny stream. She went to her knees at the edge and drank from cupped hands, gulping down the cool water greedily. She drank so much her tummy ached, but it was good. The sky was darker still, and it would be completely black soon. Sansa told herself that she must be brave, but she didn't feel brave. She felt like a scared little girl, alone in the forest. _I wish Lady were here._

That was when she saw it. On the other side of the stream grew a weirwood, tall and beautiful, its deep red leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Sansa took off her shoes and breeches and crossed the stream, its deepest point just touching her thighs. Once she reached the tree, she ran her hand over the trunk, her fingertips delving into the bark's crevices, and smoothing her hand over the mostly worn face. She knelt before the weirwood, seeking solace in her father's gods, while the tears fell from her eyes unbidden.

"Please," Sansa whispered. "I am all alone in the world. Please, help me. And… and tell me where I should go."

_I don't even know how to kindle a fire._ Sansa redressed, lacing her breeches with trembling fingers, and curled up against the weirwood beneath her cloak, watching as night enveloped the world around her. She remembered sleeping beneath her father's cloak in the godswood with Arya, after thanking the gods for sparing Bran's life. _Bran's gone now too, though. They all are. _Sansa decided she would lay here beneath the tree, still and quiet, until morning. When she heard a wolf howl in the distance, she hugged her knees tight_. I will not fall asleep_, she thought, but her eyelids grew heavy and it became so dark she could no longer tell when they were open or closed, and then she drifted off.

Sansa dreamt of a wolf with white fur and glowing red eyes. She felt a pang of sadness then, remembering her own wolf, so much smaller... The wolf moved silently toward her, nuzzling her hands and pressing his face against her tummy. _Ghost_. The name came to her from some distant, hazy part of her memory. Sansa looked around and realized she was standing on a high mountain made of ice, overlooking the world. _No_, she thought. _This is no mountain._ Ghost padded along beside her as she walked to the edge. _The Wall_. Sansa looked back down into red eyes and was startled to feel something slip forward on her head. Reaching up, her fingers touched something cold. She took it off and turned it in her hands; a bronze and iron crown. She gripped it in one hand, and with the other she stroked Ghost, running her fingers through the thick fur, struggling with her memories. _My brother, _she thought vaguely. Why was it so hard to remember? Dawn was breaking in the sky and everything was drifting away from her. She bent down and drew Ghost against her, burying her face in the warm fur of his neck, and she closed her eyes.

Morning came and Sansa woke to something soft and warm cradled at her side. She opened her eyes wearily and noticed a light snow had fallen while she slept, but she didn't feel at all cold. Sansa moved her cloak and her breath caught when she saw who had shared it with her in the night.

The wolf was as white as the snow around them, and nearly the same size as Sansa. She suddenly remembered her dream of the Wall, the vivid feel of the fur between her fingers. His red eyes opened, and he stretched his legs and yawned silently.

"_Ghost?"_ she asked, whispering. She reached out tentatively, and then he licked her fingers. Relief came crashing over her, and she threw her arms around the direwolf's neck. "Oh, Ghost! How did you ever find me?"

She looked to the face carved into the weirwood. "Thank you," she said, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Sansa stood up quickly, pulling her cloak over her shoulders. It was wet but Sansa was numb to the cold. _I am of the North, _she thought, _my blood runs cold._ For the first time, in such a long time, she was unafraid. _My skin has turned to ice._ Sansa knew where she must go. She couldn't be sure if he would remember her, if he would still love her… or if he even still lived. But she must go. The gods had heard Sansa's prayers. They had sent her a protector, a guide, and a sign. She would go to the Wall. Jon Snow, her bastard half-brother, was all the family she had left. He was the only hope for home.

ooOoo

His eyes opened when the snow began to fall. It came down lightly, dusting the ground. The girl shifted beside him, her face hidden; buried beneath her soft, sweet-smelling curls. He stood and shook the dampness from his fur and padded over to the stream. He drank deeply, his red eyes reflecting back at him from the rippling water. He stopped suddenly when he heard a twig snap nearby. He got low to the ground and searched with every sense, sniffing the air and pricking up his ears. Then there was a rustling beside him and he saw it; the rabbit, small and plump. He had caught one in the sunlight, he remembered, but he had given it to his sister. His mouth watered as he poised himself to attack, watching as the rabbit stomped its foot hard against the leaves, sending a flurry of snow into the cold air_. Thump, thump, thump…_ the trickling of water, the quiet breaths of the girl beneath the tree… _Jon, wake up_… He could smell the rabbit's blood, _thump, thump, thump…_

"Jon."

He woke suddenly, opening his eyes to see his steward, Dolorous Edd, standing over him, shaking him by the shoulder. "Sweet dreams, I hope," he said. "You'll want to break your fast before your food gets cold."

_The dream was sweet. _He hadn't had a wolf dream since Ghost disappeared in the night some weeks ago. At least now he knew Ghost was alive. _And_ _running with some girl_. He must have stumbled upon her while hunting. Jon could only hope his wolf would find his way home soon. He felt lonely without him, and some of his men had been whispering that Ghost had abandoned him, that Jon was no true Warg...

Jon broke his fast on duck eggs, sausage, and bread, and washed it all down with dark beer. All the while he remembered the way his mouth had watered at the prospect of fresh rabbit. He went down to the Training Yard to watch some of the new recruits practicing at swords. Most were green boys, but a few looked promising. Listening to the music of clashing steel, his thoughts kept finding their way back to the girl with Ghost. His wolf was surely protecting her, but from who? And why? She had been asleep beneath a cloak, but the frame of her body seemed small enough. He hadn't seen her face, only her hair in the moonlight. It reminded Jon of Ygritte, but this girl's hair had just as much brown as red, and it wasn't knotted as Ygritte's had been. One thing that had troubled Jon's thoughts was that, despite the snow on the ground and chill in the air, the girl slept without a fire.

A fortnight later, and Jon was once again worried about Ghost. He hadn't seen him in his dreams again since the first time, and couldn't reach him no matter how hard he tried, or how deeply he slept. He knew the wolf was out there, somewhere south of the wall… he could _feel_ him. He busied himself during the days and spent the nights pretending that he didn't feel as if a part of him was gone.

One night, he climbed into bed, hoping for a wolf dream, but instead he dreamt of a young maid with auburn hair, singing softly while brushing out the fur of her direwolf pup. _A memory from a hundred years ago…_

He was shaken awake at the first light of dawn by Samwell Tarly. Jon squinted at the bright light from the torch. "What is it, Sam?" he asked, sitting up and wondering why it was Sam and not his own steward waking him.

Then Sam smiled nervously. "It's Ghost. He's come back."

"Where is he?" Jon asked, climbing out of bed. "Why didn't you bring him to me? Is he hurt?"

"No, he isn't hurt," said Sam. "It's just… well… he's brought a girl with him. He won't leave her."

Jon wasn't surprised. Whoever this girl was, Ghost had played guardian with her for whatever reason. "Who is this girl?" Jon asked, while hurriedly getting dressed.

"Her name is Lady," said Sam.

Jon sighed. "All highborn girls are called 'Lady,' Sam."

"I know," said Sam. "But, she says that's her name."

Jon laced his breeches and pulled on his boots. "What does this _Lady_ look like?"

"She's beautiful," said Sam. Then he blushed. "Auburn hair, pale skin…"

Jon laughed. "Alright, enough." He pulled on his heavy wool cloak and fastened it with his wolf broach. "Let's go."

There were only a few men in the Common Hall when Jon and Sam arrived. Ghost spotted him in an instant and went bounding towards him, nearly knocking Jon onto the floor. Jon hugged him close and then scratched behind his ears. "Where have you been?" he asked the wolf, quietly. He looked into familiar red eyes and smiled.

The men in the hall had been watching the reunion and smiling themselves, but now they eyed the stranger who was standing near the back wall curiously. She had her hood pulled over her head, hiding her face. Jon stood and started toward her.

"My Lady," he said. "I am Jon Snow, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"I know you, Jon Snow," she said. "I only hope you remember me as Ghost does."

She stepped away from the wall and came forward, meeting Jon step for step. When they were only a few feet apart, she lowered her hood, and Jon's breath caught.

She was no longer the young girl he remembered from Winterfell, but there was no mistaking his sister; the auburn hair, the bright blue eyes. She was a woman now, and beautiful, even beneath her thick wool cloak Jon could see the curves of her body. Her hair fell about her shoulders in effortless waves and there was a certain grace about her.

"Sansa?" he asked, hardly above a whisper. "Is it truly you?"

She smiled, but there were tears falling from her eyes. Jon rushed forward, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her fiercely. Whatever strength had carried her here seemed to leave her body once she was in his arms, and he was holding all of her weight against him. She was weeping then, her breath coming in shuddering gasps against his chest. He put his hand in her hair and stroked it gently, trying to calm her; all the while his heart was beating hard against his ribs. Jon looked over his shoulder to see that his men had left them, and he was grateful for the privacy. "I never thought I would see you again," he said. "I feared…"

"It is only us left. _Our family, Jon…_ Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon… Father and Mother."

_She wasn't my mother. _"I know," he said, remembering suddenly how Sansa used to never call him anything but her half-brother. Unlike Arya… He used to muss Arya's hair and call her "little sister." He hadn't dared call Sansa that. "It's okay," he told her. "You're safe now." He felt her fingertips digging into the backs of his shoulders even through his layers of clothes. "I'm going to keep you safe."


End file.
